There's a Dream That Spans the Road
by ALC Punk
Summary: Pete Wisdom meets Dakota and Longshot. Chaos and Mayhem ensue.


Subject: [OTL]: [Longshot,Pete,Dakota] There's A Dream That Spans The Road...  
Date: Fri, 26 Nov 1999 23:28:05 -0800 (PST)  
From: Lyssie Sinclair   
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Pete Wisdom, Longshot or Scicluna, Doyle  
and Black Air. Marvel owns them. Dakota is owned by Bevy Mc.  
Harry is a creation of my own brain, based on The Crown (which  
is also owned by Marvel, along with Peckham, the Warwolves and  
Mojo)...  
This fic is dedicated to my twin, Beverly_McIntyre. It's her  
fault in the first place.  
  
There's a Dream That Spans the Road...  
by Ana Lyssie Cotton  
  
Pete Wisdom muttered obscenely at a passing pedestrian and  
continued stalking towards his favorite pub. It was nearly three  
in the afternoon, the London air suspiciously clear and the  
people around him were all bright and cheery. It did nothing to  
alleviate the foul mood he was in.  
  
"Damn that sodding Scicluna," he mumbled as he turned the corner  
and spotted The Crown. It was like coming home, part of him  
reflected. 'Course, after having to be debriefed by Scicluna,  
anything would feel like home, even the squalid little flat her  
was currently in.  
  
Stepping through the large oak door, Pete paused to savour the  
aroma. Part booze, part nicotine, part dirt and dust and other  
unnamable things, the smell was the scent of The Crown. The  
scent of being accepted, having fun, getting piss-drunk and  
staggering home at 4 am to be up at 7... He cut those lovely  
thoughts off and started for the bar.  
  
The clientele of The Crown ignored him for the most part, a few  
waving. Doyle was at the usual table in the back and he nodded  
at the gent. Doyle had never actually forgiven Pete for leaving  
his company. Of course, the Black Air group he'd since hooked up  
with paid better. Not that it was as fun as MI6 had been.  
  
"The usual, Wisdom?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Accepting his usual drink from the bartender, Harry whose old  
lady was forever on him to quit the Pub and get a real job  
working on taxes or some such. Harry always bitched and moaned  
about her, then turned around and brought her flowers and  
chocolates. And other things, apparently, since they were now  
working on their second kid. "Thanks, man."  
  
"On your tab?"  
  
"Yeah." Pete turned away from Harry to survey the rest of the  
pub again, looking for anything he might've missed on the first  
look-round. The thing about The Crown was that it was supposed  
to be neutral territory. And it normally was. Normally.  
  
However, on occasion, they got in some upstart American FBI, or  
CIA people that thought they should own the Intel community with  
no objections. And *they* turned it into another little brawl.  
It was why Harry never purchased expensive tables and chairs.  
And why the glasses were plastic.  
  
Pete turned back to Harry, "I'm off to my table. Send over  
breakfast?"  
  
"Sure, mate."  
  
"You're a duck."  
  
"Right." Harry rolled his eyes. "Still not completely sober, are  
we? Need any actual food?"  
  
"Is the bloody brat about?" Pete apprehensively checked for  
Harry's eldest. The little snarker had just three days before  
upended Pete's breakfast into his lap, then proceeded to run  
away and later bawl that it weren't his fault. And that was just  
the most recent "accident."  
  
"Nah, he's off with the old lady. Got one of the Courier-types  
around who looks all eager to run errands."  
  
"And you wanna give the bugger something simple and  
not-dangerous." Pete grimaced and took another pull of his  
drink. "When ya put it like that, I could use some steak and  
kidney pie, bacon sandwiches, mash and eggs--fried with chutney  
sauce."  
  
"Right." Harry nodded, "I'll send the kid out. He should be back  
in a bit. Tab again?"  
  
"Yeah." Pete took sipped more alcohol and began heading in the  
general direction of his normal table. Rounding the corner of  
the bar he froze and stared in shock. SOMEONE--two someones, to  
be exact--was sitting at his table! "Harry--" he choked out,  
whirling back.  
  
"Oh, forgot to mention that, Wisdom, sorry. Those two needed a  
table to themselves, that were the only one free at the time."  
Harry swiped the bar with a towel and nodded to the booth next  
to Pete's. "Try that one, for now."  
  
"But--but..." Pete sputtered, "That's me fuckin' BOOTH, Harry!  
And now some wankers are in it! Kick them out!" he finished,  
plaintively whining.  
  
-----  
  
Dakota swore under his breath as his companion dodged nimbly  
through the crowd ahead of him. Longshot's blond head appeared  
for an instant in front of a store ahead of him then disappeared  
again as someone taller stepped in front of the skinny young  
man.  
  
Sighing, Dakota shouldered through the crowd around himself,  
twisting and turning and suddenly popping out on a short side  
street. Ahead he could see Longshot stopping to look into a  
window. Not that he was supposed to be following Longshot, but  
Dakota was actually supposed to be *with* him. The boy was fast,  
though and tended to slip ahead. He cursed at the traffic around  
him and dodged someone's elbow.  
  
"Oh! There you are." Longshot smiled at him. "What do you think  
of those?" He gestured at the window in front of them.  
  
Light filtered through the window of the shop, shining on the  
myriad little wooden toys. In the very front a tiny railroad  
track was placed, with a tiny engine leading miniature cars all  
around. Each car was a different colour and they all had little  
toys stacked in them. In the center of the track toys were  
stacked. Teddy bears, dolls, tea sets, bouncing balls, Rubix  
cubes, slinkies, cars and more all lay jumbled in a display that  
attracted the eye and wondered and delighted.  
  
Unless you were tired, irritable and with a companion that  
enjoyed wandering through crowds, AND had looked at such  
displays SEVEN times in the last three hours. Dakota's feet  
hurt, he was hungry and he hadn't gotten enough sleep the night  
before. It was time to take matters into his own hands.  
  
"Longshot, I think we should stop for lunch--and look, there's a  
perfectly suitable pub right over there." Dakota pointed at the  
sign he could see close by. He really didn't care if it was the  
sign to a strip club. He needed to sit down and stop following  
his quicksilver, semi-bemused companion around the entire London  
downtown.  
  
"Okay." Longshot replied agreeably.  
  
"Good." Dakota stalked off and led the way towards The Crown.  
  
As soon as he stepped in, Dakota nearly turned right back around  
and left. *Nearly*. He remembered the fact that there were no  
other pubs in sight and decided the risks were worth it.  
  
The Crown reminded him of some of the more down and dirty  
hangouts he and some of his 'comrades'--he winced at the  
term--hung out in, back when he was... When he was 'working' for  
the government. He mentally snarled and shrugged. The past would  
have to wait. Right now he was in desperate need of a drink.  
  
Ten minutes of being comfortably ensconced at a table, paying no  
attention to Longshot's prattle and sipping a nice cool  
Guinness, and suddenly he was overshadowed by some skinny lad  
who appeared to be whining.  
  
"But this is MY table." Black hair, terribly unkempt  
appearance--the boy obviously hadn't shaved that morning, NOR,  
from the smell, showered. His dark eyes were bloodshot and the  
drink in his hand sloshed a bit as he waved the arm to make some  
sort of vague point.  
  
Dakota smiled sweetly at him, "Sorry. We were here first."  
  
"But if you want, you can sit with us! It's always good to have  
more than one person to drink with." Longshot smiled at the  
stranger companionably and gestured to the empty chair next to  
Dakota.  
  
The man spluttered and absently wiped his drink-splattered arm  
off on the rumpled white shirt. His black pants and the black  
suit jacket that hung over half his frame also looked rumpled.  
Apparently the man had never heard of dry-cleaning.  
  
"Now, Wisdom, you can sit with them, or you can have the other  
table like a good little boy." The silky-sweet husky voice  
purred into Dakota's ears and settled into a stickiness that  
made him want to wash his head with a scouring pad. The woman  
that went with the voice was of medium height, and nothing to  
look at. Not that the bright-green hair she was sporting wasn't  
eye-catching.  
  
Pete Wisdom blinked a bit blearily at Alana Peckham and sighed.  
"Right, love, whatever." He slumped down into the chair the  
blond bloke had indicated and waved listlessly. "Wisdom."  
  
"I'm Longshot and this is Dakota. So, what are you, a spy or  
something?" The blond looked at him all-innocence. His accent  
grating oddly on Pete's ears as he tried to place it. The other  
man was obviously American, but this one... Pete snorted and  
looked out of the corner of his eye to check that Alana had gone  
off.  
  
Thankfully she had. He was definitely not drunk enough to deal  
with her. His lovely Ex... Turning back to the leather-clad  
blond, he shrugged. "Sorry, can't tell you. 'D haveta kill you,  
if I bloody well did. And where is my food..." he let his voice  
trail off and contemplatively took another drink.  
  
As they all drank in relative silence, he covertly studied his  
companions. The dark-haired one was casually dressed in blue  
jeans, plaid shirt and leather jacket. The blond was dressed in  
a full kit of black leather. Looked quite comfortable, too. Pete  
pondered the last time he'd been in a full kit and shuddered.  
  
It'd been Alana's fault...  
  
"Hey, what are you going to get your girlfriend for Christmas?"  
The chirpy voice that came from the blond was nearly unbearable.  
It nearly made him get up. But, dammit. This was HIS sodding  
table. He was stayin'.  
  
"Don't got one."  
  
"Ah, that's sad. So, she--" Longshot indicated the spot Alana  
had been standing in. "--isn't yours?"  
  
"No she bloody well isn't, and you don't want her either." He  
glared blearily across the table.  
  
"So, she's an old flame, then." It was the first thing Dakota  
had said in minutes. He was giving Pete a positively innocent  
look as he jabbed the knife deeper.  
  
"It ain't your fucking business."  
  
"Ah." Dakota nodded. "So, what are you drinking?"  
  
Pete peered suspiciously at him as he downed the last of his  
scotch. "Why?"  
  
"I thought I'd buy a round." Dakota smiled expansively.  
  
"Uhuh." Pete nodded then shrugged. After all, free booze...  
"Scotch."  
  
"Got it." Dakota glanced at Longshot. "Keep him company, I'll be  
right back."  
  
As Dakota left the table under Pete's still-suspicious glare he  
chuckled to himself. Apparently the younger man thought he'd  
made that jab a-purpose. Not that he hadn't. Dakota snorted and  
stepped up to the bar ignoring the mental thought that crossed  
his mind about lost lovers.  
  
"What'll it be?" The bartender looked enquiringly at him,  
polishing a glass industriously.  
  
"Two pints and Wisdom's usual."  
  
The man nodded and began pulling the dark foamy brew. "So,  
where'd ye know Ol' Wisdom from?"  
  
"Oh, here and there." Dakota hedged studying the man closely. He  
was slightly overweight, and his blondish hair was receding. And  
the over-alls he wore over the blue shirt were slightly stained  
with various foods and alcohol. "Is it possible to order some  
food?"  
  
"I've got a lad that can run off for some food, if'n you want  
some, yeah."  
  
"Good." Dakota accepted the two mugs of ale and the glass of  
ruddy-brown scotch. "Can you send him out for a bunch of sausage  
sandwiches?"  
  
"I'll add those to Wisdom's order he was about to leave with."  
  
"Thanks." Dakota nodded cordially and sauntered back to the  
table.  
  
"--so, anyway, what DO you do?" Longshot was leaning his cheek  
on his arm, the elbow on the table and gazing at Wisdom with  
lazy interest.  
  
The Londoner muttered something that was probably best left  
unintelligible and downed the last of his drink.  
  
"Here." Dakota slipped the new drink into Wisdom's hand and sat  
down in his own chair. "Longshot, I ordered us breakfast."  
  
"Oh, good." Longshot looked intently at Wisdom. "You never  
answered my question."  
  
"I don't soddin' have to." Wisdom glared at him out of bloodshot  
eyes.  
  
"Oh." Longshot looked crestfallen for a moment. "Okay. Hey,  
Dakota, what'd you get us for breakfast, 'cause I'm starved."  
  
"Just some sandwiches."  
  
The three sat in comparative silence for the next few minutes,  
all sipping their drinks with the casual air of men who are  
somewhat bored, yet absorbed in what they're doing. Currently  
Pete was attempting to get drunk. Again. In the morning he'd  
have to get up and deal with sodding Scicluna again. The word  
echoed through his head. 'Again, again, again...'  
  
Pete shuddered and pulled the battered pack of cigs from his  
pocket and extracted one. He paused in the midst of attempting  
to light it with the battered lighter and glanced at his  
companions. "Y'wan' one?"  
  
"Nah, I like to taste my food." Dakota replied.  
  
Longshot was looking at the cigarette with curiosity, "Don't  
those cause cancer?"  
  
"So?" Pete glared at him mulishly as he finally succeeded in  
lighting the fag.  
  
"So aren't you afraid of getting sick?" Longshot looked at him  
guilelessly.  
  
"It's none of your bloody business, mate." Pete went for the  
middle of the road since he was beginning to actually feel  
vaguely mellow.  
  
"Oh. Okay. So, what did you say you did for a living?"  
  
Dakota fought a chuckle as Wisdom groaned and took a deep drag  
on his cigarette. The poor man had quite obviously not had all  
his wits about him when he got up. And he was quickly losing  
those he had as he drank the last of his second glass of scotch.  
  
"I'm gettin' 'nother. Anythin' I can get for you?" Wisdom was  
carefully avoiding Longshot and his eager question.  
  
"Nah, I'm fine at the moment." Dakota replied. He watched Wisdom  
stand up, sway and saunter off to the bar, with a slight grin on  
his face. Longshot's silly questions and blather were obviously  
irritating the man. Dakota snorted. *His* table.  
  
"Hey, Dakota, what do you think he does?"  
  
"He's probably a high-tech spy." Dakota paused and snorted  
again. "Or, considering it's Saturday, he's probably a  
schoolmaster on the run."  
  
"Ah." Longshot played his fingers along the rim of his mug and  
looked pensive. Finally he looked up at Dakota, "Do you think  
we're safe here?"  
  
Interpreting that to mean all of London and not just The Crown,  
Dakota shrugged. "As safe as we'd be anywhere. Here?" He glanced  
around at the slightly dingy, slightly tattered interior.  
"Something tells me we're safe here."  
  
They sat in companionable silence, Longshot staring into his  
drink and Dakota carefully studying the pub around them. Most of  
the patrons appeared relaxed to the casual eye. Unless you were  
someone that had studied human body language, or better yet,  
been someone that used it to hide what you were... Dakota noted  
that most of the people in the bar were in some line of work  
that required them to hide.  
  
For instance, that young woman that had chastised Wisdom was  
obviously in intelligence work. Especially with the gun under  
her trench. Dakota refrained from snorting to himself again and  
checked the rest of the patrons for machinery. About half to all  
of them had some sort of weapon. Well, at least if any of Mojo's  
goons showed up for his current tablemate they'd be  
well-defended.  
  
With that less than pleasant thought he looked back towards the  
bar itself and noted Wisdom on his way back followed by a young  
lad with several bags. It appeared their breakfast had arrived.  
  
----  
  
Save for a few comments from Longshot on the greasiness of the  
food and a muttered shaddup from Wisdom, the gentlemen (if you  
could call them that) ate in relative silence. Occasional  
slurping noises and muffled grunts were heard. Dakota got up at  
one point and got himself and Longshot new drinks. It occurred  
to him as he sat down that maybe he was drinking too much. Then  
he shrugged. His healing factor could handle quite a bit of  
alcohol. Besides, if they were to match Wisdom drink for  
drink...  
  
"Dakota, you're not normally a drinking man."  
  
"I am today."  
  
Longshot nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer and  
looked at Wisdom. "You are, though."  
  
"Wot of it?" Wisdom's blue eyes glared at him, daring him to  
make some stupid remark.  
  
"I just wonder if we could drink you under the table." Longshot  
looked once again innocent and guileless. Dakota nearly choked  
on his mouthful of beer as he recognised that look. It was the  
same look Longshot got just before he ran off on some  
rabbit-stupid scheme. Or accidentally turned two women in love  
with him.  
  
Luckily, Wisdom merely snorted and went back to eating his  
breakfast.  
  
----  
  
Scicluna inspected the exterior of this oh-so wonderful drinking  
establishment. It was a place she tended to lose a lot of her  
best agents to after their days were over. Wisdom, Cully... A  
few others she couldn't be bothered to think of. Scratch avoided  
the place, oddly enough. Considering the somewhat dilapidated  
appearance, she wouldn't be caught dead inside. Normally.  
  
However, Pete Wisdom had headed to The Crown after their  
debriefing, and she really *did* need to talk with him again.  
Especially since she felt a need to inspect his normal place of  
debauchery.  
  
Shoving an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear with a  
black-gloved hand, Scicluna stepped up to the door and into the  
gloom beyond it.  
  
----  
  
Harry finished polishing the last glass and looked up to watch a  
gorgeous blonde walk into his pub. She was holding herself--ah,  
that was it. The woman was quite a looker, yet had a standoffish  
set to her shoulders.  
  
She was stalking into his pub as if she owned it, too. Had to  
give her that, he did.  
  
"What can I get ya?" Nice, nonchalant. Calm.  
  
"I'm looking for Wisdom." Perfect voice, perfect accent. Steel  
and ice underneath. She stared at him, her eyes pale and cold.  
  
"He's--"  
  
"Right 'ere." Wisdom glared at the woman, his lips pulled back  
in a half-snarl. "I've already talked to you, bloody--"  
  
"Wisdom."  
  
One word. It cut through Wisdom's half-anger and bluster and  
stopped him dead. He looked at her and then at Harry. "Give us a  
moment."  
  
Harry blinked and nodded, stepping away to the other end of the  
bar. Far enough away that she wouldn't be able to tell he was  
listening. Wisdom knew, though. And Wisdom also knew that Harry  
would signal the rest of the pub that something Might Be Up.  
  
Doyle glanced up and nearly froze in midsentence. Harry was  
standing by the far side of his counter, and he was pouring  
himself a drink. "--so, I think that's a good idea."  
  
"You do?" His companion asked, snorting. "Doyle, you've never  
been--Harry's pourin' himself a drink."  
  
"I was waitin' for you ta notice that."  
  
"Well, damn, man. Ain't as if I'm normally--well, looky there.  
It's that Scicluna-bitch."  
  
"Ah." Doyle stared at the blonde as she made a gesture at Pete.  
"I'm of a mind to go give her a piece of it."  
  
"I'd follow you, but I don't think you've any mind to give."  
  
"More'n you." Doyle rejoined as he stood and straightened the  
front of his booze and food-spattered vest. "Be back after a  
refreshing tiff with the annoying woman."  
  
"Uhuh." His companion nodded, unconvinced. "I'll make sure your  
seat is well-padded for when she sends you flyin' back in flames  
and defeat."  
  
"Right." Doyle snorted at him and turned away.  
  
Meanwhile, at a table a bit further in the back, Dakota and  
Longshot watched the blonde harangue Pete with interest. At the  
moment, she appeared to be trouncing him soundly as he slouched  
more and more and his cigarette appeared to droop.  
  
"Who do you think she is?" Longshot watched the two a moment  
then glanced around the room. "Never mind that, Dakota, why do  
you think everyone's gone so tense?"  
  
"His boss?" Dakota hazarded as he glanced around, confirming to  
himself what Longshot had just mentioned. Every single person in  
the pub had gone from relaxation to alertness. It was a state he  
recognised. He'd used it often enough, back when--  
  
The front door of the pub slammed open and three figures stalked  
in, dressed as policemen. Dakota thought the 'dressed' part, as  
they moved like something else. His eyes narrowed as they stood  
in the doorway and swept the pub with cold gazes.  
  
"Dakota, those aren't policemen." Staring at them, seeing the  
ripples underneath the outer movement, *recognising* them...  
Longshot shuddered. Warwolves. Mojo had sent Warwolves after  
him.  
  
Dakota stiffened at the tenseness in Longshot's voice. "Oh? I  
thought they were door-to-door salesmen."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Before Dakota had a chance to ask further what Longshot was  
worried about, one of the men spoke. "Give us the--"  
  
"The what, mate?" One of the patrons slurred. The rest blinked  
at him in shock.  
  
And the men shrugged and attacked. Immediately, there was  
instant chaos (not quite as good as home-made, but nearly there)  
as men began throwing punches, drinks or whatever was handy. The  
few women in the room snorted disgustedly and ducked under their  
tables.  
  
Dakota moved, grabbing Longshot's wrist and hauling them both  
under their own table, his chair clattering to the floor he  
moved so fast. Above them the patrons were fighting. Pitchers of  
beer hit the walls, people hit the tables, chairs broke as they  
were used as weapons.  
  
A second later, Wisdom slid underneath their table, his eye  
blackened, but apparently otherwise intact. "Allo, gents."  
  
"Does this happen all the time in this establishment?" Dakota  
inquired sardonically.  
  
"Depends."  
  
"Dakota, we really need to leave." Longshot's voice was urgent  
as he tugged a bit desperately on Dakota's arm.  
  
A chair clattered to the floor in front of them. "That might be  
a bit difficult." Dakota pointed out reasonably.  
  
"Dakota, we have to GET OUT OF HERE." If the Warwolves figured  
out where he was hiding, there would be no fighting them.  
  
"Okay, okay, mate, keep yer knickers on. I'm sure the entire  
bloody Crown 'eard that." Wisdom waved a hand at Dakota. "If our  
tall, large friend will lead the way, I'll be happy to bring up  
the rear."  
  
"Good." Longshot looked at Dakota. "Well?"  
  
"Got it." Dakota reached out and snagged the chair. "There a  
back door on this place?"  
  
"Yeah. That way." Pete pointed as they scrambled out from under  
the table.  
  
Dakota nodded, stood up and began moving through the melee,  
shoving the chair into people to move them, a few times letting  
loose a punch to clear a section. Behind him he could hear  
Longshot dodging his own share of moving bodies and objects.  
Wisdom wasn't fairing so well, though as he heard him give a  
muffled yelp.  
  
The back door was in sight when someone grabbed an arm and  
attempted to pull him back in. Dakota slammed his elbow into the  
man's chest and made a last dash through the crowd to gain the  
door. It opened easily, the hinges obviously well-oiled, into a  
back alley. He stepped out then glanced back to see someone grab  
Wisdom.  
  
Pulling Longshot out he reached back and snagged an edge of  
Wisdom's jacket, pulling. With a ripping sound, and the distinct  
snap of someone's wrist, Wisdom came flying out into the alley.  
Longshot reached out and grabbed the door, slamming it shut  
before anyone could escape after them.  
  
"Thanks, mate." Wisdom gasped out, rubbing his arm.  
  
"No problem." Dakota glanced around the alley. "I think we  
should leave, though. You know of anywhere else we could drink?"  
A cursory glance proved it had been the Londoner's attacker's  
wrist that had snapped.  
  
"I didn't get to finish breakfast."  
  
Wisdom grinned at Longshot. "Ah, well, then, have I got the  
perfect bloody place."  
  
----  
  
Ten minutes later the three were ensconced in another pub, this  
one a little dingier, but the food was still good. As Dakota  
downed his umpteenth mug of ale, he wondered when the day would  
end...  
  
After that pub, they went to another. And then another. And  
after that? Another. It was Longshot that kept them moving, only  
stopping to grab another drink. The man wanted to confuse anyone  
still looking for him--if someone was looking for him at all,  
which Dakota was beginning to highly doubt.  
  
About halfway through their pub-hopping, Longshot was showing  
signs of drunkenness. He and Wisdom were doing okay. With his  
healing factor metabolising, and Wisdom's inexhaustible  
soberness...  
  
When six o clock hit, it was to find them in a little dive in  
the East End, drowning their apparent sorrows in yet another  
round of booze. And they left their soon after. Wisdom was  
beginning to stagger more than usual, his words slurring.  
  
Slowly, but surely, the pubs began blurring into one after the  
other, the drinks began tasting all the same, and Dakota began  
to sway a bit. Stagger here, lean on Longshot and Pete, there.  
And slowly, but surely things began wavering, Pete began to talk  
without being understood, Longshot began falling asleep... Pete  
suggested they head back to his flat.  
  
And then it all faded away into a deep blankness. And for a  
time, Dakota knew nothing.  
  
----  
  
The first thing Dakota did on waking was to close his eyes and  
pray that it was only an overhead light shining in his eyes and  
not sunlight. The second thing he did was to hiss as his body  
announced that it was TIRED and he should GO BACK TO SLEEP.  
  
The third thing he did was to wonder where the hell he was, and  
why he appeared to have something on his chest. He moved his arm  
and discovered that it was indeed still attached to his body.  
But when he moved it, he decided that he was too tired to move  
it more than a little and stopped.  
  
Oh, yes. Something on his chest. It was light, he wouldn't have  
noticed it except it was sitting there, moving as he breathed in  
and out. His arm moved again and hurt a bit less. He moved it  
towards the object and touched it.  
  
The object appeared to be plastic. It was conical--possibly--or  
cylindrical in shape. And was hollow. This was proved as he  
rapped his knuckles against it. It fell over and gave a hollow  
*bup* sound as it landed on his other side, then rolled off.  
  
As it hit the floor, it bounced and clattered. Someone else in  
the room yelped softly. Dakota finally made his eyes opened and  
he stared up at the cracked ceiling. Where was he?  
  
That thought engendered another. Why was he laying on a lumpy  
couch? And what had been on his chest? Turning his head he noted  
a wooden floor, half-covered with clothing and other things,  
including a rug. And a tipped over orange traffic cone. Right  
below the couch, Longshot was sleeping.  
  
"Longshot?" His voice came out a bit rusty, but otherwise fine.  
Especially considering what he was beginning to remember of the  
amount of alcohol that had poured down it. And the amount of  
strange mixes.  
  
"Mrph."  
  
"Longshot, you ought to wake up, I--"  
  
"Grrmph. Woul' th' two o' ya bloody well SHUT UP?"  
  
Dakota peered blearily in the direction of the voice. The  
overhead light was still sorta painful, but he could make out  
the doorway into what was obviously a bedroom. It was completely  
dark, but the edge of the bed could be seen.  
  
There was vague movement for a moment, then a grunt. Wisdom was  
apparently trying not to get up. Dakota didn't blame him. HE had  
a healing factor. Neither Longshot nor Wisdom did. Considering  
the fact that he recalled matching Pete drink for drink, the man  
had to be in considerable pain.  
  
Longshot hadn't moved. Dakota gave a mental shrug and carefully  
levered himself upright. A few twinges were left from sleeping  
on the lumpy monstrosity, but otherwise he was fine. He was  
sitting. That was a good thing. Next up was to try standing.  
  
Of course, Longshot was sort of in the way. Dakota pondered the  
situation. If he--Ah. He carefully wriggled around and got his  
knees underneath himself. Stopping to catch his breath--the  
booze had apparently scrambled his lungs. Or maybe that was the  
obscene amount of cigarette smoke Wisdom had given off during  
the evening.  
  
Shuffling on his knees to the end of the couch, Dakota peered  
over and spotted dusty, but empty hardwood floor. He slowly  
swung his leg over, blinking when he noticed his foot was bare.  
It thunked against the floor and he yelped softly. The floor was  
freezing.  
  
"Look, you tosser, would you--" There was a crash from the  
bedroom and Wisdom's voice cut off for a second before resuming  
in a long string of increasingly more colourful and anatomically  
incorrect curses.  
  
Dakota shook his head, chuckling, and stood up. For a second the  
room wavered around him as his body got used to being upright  
again. Then it oriented itself and was fine. He leaned back and  
stretched then bent over and pulled out his back that way.  
Several things popped. He straightened and rolled his shoulders.  
Several more things popped.  
  
"--bloody hell." Wisdom finished, now standing in the doorway  
and glaring balefully at him out of bloodshot eyes. His first  
cigarette of the day hung limply from his left hand while the  
right clutched the doorjamb. "Are you still 'ere?"  
  
"Yes." Dakota nodded at the recumbent Longshot. "I don't know  
how much he drank, but I bet he's going to hurt worse than you."  
  
"Well, there's only one bloody cure for it, mate."  
  
"Oh?" Dakota had finally located his shoes. Somehow they'd  
gotten buried in a pile of old newspapers. He shook his head,  
wondering if he really wanted to remember the rest of the  
previous night.  
  
"More of the 'air of the dog wot bit ya."  
  
Dakota thought about that. "You mean more booze?"  
  
"Yep." Wisdom took a long drag on the end of his cig then  
stubbed it out on the doorjamb. "And as soon as I can git me  
legs ta move pr'perly, I'll get ready to go."  
  
"Ah." Dakota nodded and began pulling his boots on. His socks  
had disappeared somewhere, he knew not where and he wasn't going  
to look through more of Wisdom's apartment to find them.  
  
"Ah indeed." Wisdom sniggered for a moment then paused. "Sorry,  
mate ya just look damned odd pulling them boots on like that."  
  
"Thanks." Dakota said sardonically. He stood again and walked  
over to Longshot's unconscious form. "Do you think I can carry  
him out of here and back to our hotel without anyone noticing?"  
  
"Pos'bly." Wisdom shuffled back into the darkness. There were  
rustling, crashing noises, more curses and a few thumps.  
  
Dakota shook his head again and leaned over, carefully scooping  
up Longshot in his arms. The man wasn't all that heavy.  
Hopefully he'd make it back to the hotel before he got too  
heavy. Longshot made a shurring sound then sort of snuggled  
against Dakota's chest.  
  
"Oh, bloody great, man. You both look like ruddy poofs."  
Wisdom's voice was bordering on snickers again.  
  
"Poof?" Dakota raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Yeah, you know," Wisdom gestured lewdly.  
  
If he could have, Dakota would have run a hand over his face. He  
was beginning to wonder where and how they'd ended up picking up  
Wisdom.  
  
"At The Crown." Longshot's voice sounded tired. His eyes opened  
and he looked up at Dakota. "You can put me down, now."  
  
"That--"  
  
"Wasn't aloud, but I was thinking it, too." The blond man smiled  
as Dakota carefully set his legs on the floor then released him.  
He swayed for a moment then was steady. "And, as much fun as it  
was, Mr. Wisdom, who never told me what he does for a living, I  
really need a shower. And some fresh food."  
  
"Y're thinkin' too fast this early in the sodding morn." Wisdom  
noted as he reached out to shake their hands. "Lovely night.  
Must do this again, sometime."  
  
"Next time I'm in London." Dakota said.  
  
"Anytime. You can always find me arse down The Crown. Or just  
ask Harry. He'll know."  
  
Longshot smiled. "Sure."  
  
And the two men, one dark-haired, the other blond, left Wisdom's  
apartment to find themselves in a street not four blocks from  
The Crown.  
  
"Here's where the story ends...It's that little souvenir of that  
terrible year..." --the Sundays.  
  
=====  
[20:45] Listening to you two is like being drowned in scrumpets  
during a Monty Python cast party. It's fun, it's harmeless, but you still  
don't know what the hell is going on. (Sabby was talking of Acetal and I)... 


End file.
